


my heart's a prisoner to my ribs

by worry



Category: Ava's Demon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Supernatural Elements, Blood Drinking, Fae & Fairies, I'm Sorry, M/M, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Self-Indulgent, Vampires, sensitive wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-08
Updated: 2017-03-08
Packaged: 2018-09-30 19:16:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10169960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/worry/pseuds/worry
Summary: Odin looks so beautiful with Gil's blood on his mouth.(Or: the most self-indulgent thing I've ever written. Odin is a freshly-turned vampire, Gil is a very alluring faerie with golden blood, we all know how this story ends.)





	

**Author's Note:**

> God, this is so self indulgent. So. Completely self-indulgent. I don't expect anyone else to like this but I'm proud of it so here we go.

Gil Marverde is nineteen when he kills the love of his life.

 

They do it every Wednesday: he comes over to Gil's house, rambles amount mathematical equations while Gil stares at Odin's lips, chest, body - while Gil imagines Odin against him - while Gil forces his hands in his lap, lest they wander to his wings underneath his shirt as Odin talks and talks. This is, most likely, why he's failing senior year (again); the tutor he was assigned ended up being beautiful, ended up being the kind of person he imagines angels would fall for, give up their holiness and omnipotence for just one human. One beautiful, tempting human.

 

Gil is not an angel. He would still rip off his wings for Odin. He would still give up his magic for Odin. If he asked, Gil would do anything. Odin is dangerous. Odin is _dangerous_. He makes Gil's gentle faith tremble slightly, God in his eyes distancing, so far away that He is barely visible. You'd need some kind of glass to see God again.

 

It's not his fault. He hasn't seen Pedri in years. He didn't know Nevy would invite him over, didn't know that leaving Odin alone in his bedroom would end like _this_ : Odin lying prostrate, position prayer-like, on the floor. Neck ripped open sharply, blood from the wound soaking through the wooden floorboards, blood from the wound making Odin less beautiful, more beautiful, a different kind of beautiful. He knew about Pedri's - affinity - for it. He _knew_. Gil assumed that he was good; fae blood is the most desired, considered luxurious, and Pedri has never tried to harm him, or Nevy, or - anyone. Maybe he was hungry. Gil knows hunger, understands it. Hunger makes you do terrible things, like lose your belief momentarily, like fall for boys who will never love you back. It gets him through every breath. Gil knows hunger. He knows it all. Hunger. He knows. Hunger. Hunger. Or: he should have known. Gil should have _known_.

 

He falls to the floor next to Odin - Odin's body - Odin's _body_ , where he lies, dead, on the floor, no breaths or heartbeats or tremors. Just dead. He's just dead.

 

Gil Marverde is nineteen when he kills the love of his life.

 

Gil Marverde is nineteen when Odin's neck turns back to flesh, when the blood on it dries up, when Odin's eyes flutter open, violet and black where the white should be. He's nineteen when Odin looks at him with the _wrong_ kind of hunger in his eyes. Gil dreamed about Odin's hunger. Gil dreamed about lust. Gil dreamed about -

 

Now: Odin is hungry. Dreams don't matter.

 

"Odin," he says. "Are you—"

 

"Gil... _Gil,_ " Odin breathes, grasping for his hand, feeling around for it like something blind, like an animal new to the world, eyes still shut. "What happened t—to me?"

 

"You, um..."

 

"I can hear your heart b—beating," Odin says. "Why can I hear y—your heart beating?"

 

"I don't know," Gil admits, making his voice low and soft. He thinks it will be comforting. He thinks of Odin, dreams of him. How could any God let this happen?

 

It does not comfort Odin, Gil knows, the words only grate on him. But. He has to _try._

 

'Why do I... wh—why do I... why... I—I want..."

 

"You want blood," Gil says; the soft in him has faded. He knows what he has to do. He knows. (He should have known.)

 

"Gil, _what_ is go-going on?"

 

He removes his hand — fingers tangled with Odin's, _when did that happen, **temptation, falling—**_

 

and holds his wrist out, up to Odin's mouth. He is Odin's now, completely. He has always belonged to Odin Arrow. He gives himself over like holy sacrifice. He loves God but  _oh, he loves Odin too._

 

"Take mine," he says.

 

"I am _not_ drinking your b—b—bl—blood. I—I'm not... not cr—crazy... I..."

 

Odin stutters so much that his mouth wets with saliva, drools down his chin. Gil watches it _ **—** he's losing control, _staring at Gil and Gil's veins and the blood beneath him. This is the only time that Odin will ever  _want_ him. When they are both, quite literally, monsters.

 

He mumbles a  _sorry_ and sinks his teeth in—

 

Gil doesn't take God's name in vain, doesn't say it outside the context of prayer, certainly doesn't bring God into pleasure. But right now God, prayer, holiness is the only thing he can feel as Odin drinks from him, Gil's golden blood all on his mouth like sacrifice, again, cut the neck open just for God, just to be holy. God. He reaches a hand up, desperate, to do  _anything;_ he tries to touch a wing but his arm shakes too much to move, so he rests it against the wall as Odin's teeth go deeper into his other arm. God. His entire body is trembling. He forgets about God, only closes his eyes and lets everything out, moans and breaths and screams. It should hurt. It should hurt. Gil should have known. Odin could drain him, kill him right here on his bedroom floor, and Gil would let him.

 

Then the teeth leave, retract, and Gil apologizes to God, to every aspect of Him. The things he felt were — sinful.

 

There's no going back now.

 

He opens his eyes. Odin touches his chin, stares at the sunshine gold blood on his fingers for a moment, for too long. Then he looks up at Gil, right into his eyes, and says: "You're not h—human."

 

The words feel like punishment. A knife, blessed, pushing into him, as punishment for sin. He deserves it. He deserves it. But Odin looks so beautiful with Gil's blood on his mouth.

 

"Neither are you," he says, venom. "Not anymore."

 

"B—but your blood, it's—"

 

"I know. And you drank it."

 

"And  _you_ a—acted like I was sucking your dick or s—something."

 

Gil tries not to let this affect him, tries to ignore the feeling. Odin would  _never._

 

"Oh, G—God," Odin says, _God,_ and Gil can tell it's hitting him, haunting him. "I just drank someone's bl—blood."

 

He tries to stand up, tries to push himself off of the ground, away from his dried blood, his old death. But all he does is fall back down into Gil's arms— _into Gil's arms._

 

"Let me help you up," Gil says; as he helps Odin, he feels himself shake, feels his composure—the one he spent years on creating, the frail composure he has around Odin—fall like a glamour.

 

Odin sits on his bed. He's been here many times for studying, but: now it is different.

 

"What  _are_ you?" he asks.

 

Gil sighs. This will be his first time showing his wings to anyone but Nevy. Odin could run. Odin could hate him,  _monster._ But Odin needs comfort, they are both inhuman, so he sheds his jacket like skin, throws it on the floor, away from the blood.

 

"What are you d—doing—"

 

Gil pulls his shirt off. His wings—blue-white, ethereal, soft and shimmering—expand, spanning out about a foot from his back. Odin is finally looking at him in awe. Odin is finally  _looking at him._

 

"Are y—you a fairy?" he asks, light in his dark eyes.

 

"Yes," Gil replies, watching Odin's wonder. "I am."

 

"Can I touch them?"

 

"No, it's—"

 

Odin's hands are already reaching out. Oh. Odin's hands are already on them,  _oh—_

 

_Oh—_

 

Odin's stroking them, feeling the lightness in his hands. Gil lets a moan escape; louder, this time, than when Odin was drinking from him, louder. He's pictured Odin stroking his wings too many times, and now it's happening—

 

Oh. Oh—

 

_**God**._

 

"Does this like, g—get you off, or something?"

 

Odin's hand is still on his wing, movements slowing down to a stop. The expression on his face is amused; he's enjoying this. He's  _enjoying this._ Maybe—

 

"No," Gil says. "It just—"

 

He responds by pressing softly on the very tip of it, circling his finger around the edges, and Gil thinks he's going to fall right here in his bedroom, Gil thinks he's going to fall to his knees and fold in on himself. Faeries aren't supposed to believe in higher powers. Gil would give up every belief just to make this last a few seconds longer. Ah— _amen._

 

"I—It does, doesn't it?"

 

"Y—y—yes _,_ " Gil breathes; Odin's hand is still fixed on him, still stroking him. Odin is something now—he is like Gil now—and the first thing that he does, upon receiving his new life, is touch Gil and make him melt, molten gold.

 

"Do you want me to s—stop?"

 

"No," Gil tells him, shaky. "Keep going."

 

"Then come here," Odin says, and pushes himself farther back on the bed. His voice is inviting; Gil's white hair is standing straight up, everywhere on his body, at the sound of it. This must be a dream. This must be.

 

Gil sits next to him—it's pathetic, he could have taken his invitation and climbed on him, felt Odin underneath him, but he's scared. He's just so  _scared._ This is too good to be true.

 

And then Odin is straddling him, and every illness in the world is curable, has been cured, everything wrong has been made right, the feeling of Odin Arrow against Gil Marverde isn't holy. It is  _human._

 

Gil makes the move, watches Odin like prey watching its predator, rough, animalistic. He kisses Odin—he  _kisses Odin, and_ Odin kisses back, reaches out and touches the very base of Gil's wings, right where the energy attaches to his back. Gil gasps as he feels it, as Odin's other hand slides to his hips. Gasps, again—pathetically, this time,  _God—_ when Odin's fangs brush against his skin, when they — when — when Odin bites him again, this time right into his neck. Again: sacrifice.

 

It is the most inhuman position, the most unholy position, the most disgraceful, rough,  _primal_ position. Gil's magic overtaking him, Odin's bloodlust overtaking him, their needs overtaking them. It's disgusting. Gil believes. He does. He will never stop believing in God, even when a beautiful boy has his teeth in Gil's neck, even when the beautiful boy doesn't believe. But this — this is  _human._

 

Together, they are human.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> LMAO. Please tell me what you think. Wild.
> 
> Edit: I also wrote an Ava/Maggie fic set in this universe (no smut, obviously). I'm not posting it to Ao3 but it can be read [here](http://silasnathaniel.livejournal.com/941.html).


End file.
